


The Secret Origin of Awkward Moments

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity finds herself in an awkward situation, but Oliver Queen is there to help. </p><p>or: Felicity's arm gets stuck in a vending machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Origin of Awkward Moments

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i hope this isn't too bad... it started as a drabble and turned into a 4k word piece. eh, enjoy?
> 
> (and i know the title sucks. i'm unimaginative, sorry.)

Felicity Smoak has been in her share of awkward situations. If anything, she’s had to endure more awkward situations than the average person – possibly _double_ the awkward situations, if not more. And, while she’s not complaining, because she has the ability to say that the universe treats her mostly well, having given her the privileged life of never going hungry and having a nice townhouse, it’s a rather socially compromising characteristic of hers that she would rather not have.

Like, once, in grade twelve, she managed to trap herself in the girl’s bathroom during a routine fire drill, resulting in a school-wide humiliation and three burly, brooding firemen with grabby hands, dragging her from a room scented like urine and perfume. Or, one time, while at the doctor’s office, Felicity accidentally knocked a cookie-jar full of condoms off the counter and onto the waiting-room floor, causing it to shatter in front of a room of children. And, now, she’s in one of the worst positions possible, _literally_ , ranking higher on the awkward meter than anything she’s ever had to bear.

On her hands and knees, her dress clumsily hiked up, mid-thigh, with her face pressed against the glass of a snack machine and her arm caught inside, trapped between the metal latch and inner wall. Her rump is easily poked out, giving any passerby’s an unwanted show. And, to make her situation worse, she can make out, in her peripheral vision, the sight of someone standing, amused, behind her.

Between wondering what she’s done to force the God’s against her and fumbling around, reaching for her snack, she manages to muffle out a strained, “I’ve almost got it,” followed by a huff, and, “Sorry for the show. It was completely unintentional.”

The person just chuckles at her, voice uneasily familiar. It’s an odd sound, known _somehow_ , but she can’t quite put her finger on who it is. Rushing through her mental address book (because of course the most awkward person on the planet has one), she pauses her movements to furrow her eyebrows.

Coming up short, she becomes thoroughly curious and turns, slightly – arm _still_ shoved inside the machine – and catches sight of her spectator. With a rushed, “ _Frack!_ ” she moves to stand, momentarily forgetting her bodily placement, and finds the metal latch over her arm slipping, jamming between her elbow and forcing her arm into an awkward hold.

And, with her boss’s son, _Oliver Queen_ , standing behind her, hands in pockets and an amused smile on his face, Felicity Smoak finds herself trapped in a vending machine.

She quickly uses her free hand to pull her dress down, attempting to cover whatever bit of dignity she has left, and her legs, from the notorious playboy – during which she tugs at her confined arm. Finding her movement capacity limited to _none at all_ , a panicked and breathless sigh leaves her throat. Again, “ _Frack.”_

Felicity Smoak is trapped in the grasp of a machine full of sugary treats, eyes of one of the most important men in Starling City boring into her, and she’s four, maybe five, inches shy of giving him the show of his life. To say the least, this isn’t the worst way she could have imagined spending her Tuesday morning, having originally planned to bury herself in a pile of paperwork.

With her cheeks quickly flushing and her back arching, tiredly, she manages to angle her body so that she’s somewhat making eye contact with him. (And, _okay_ , she knew that the man she would one day have sign her paycheck was tall, but with him towering over her, more than six feet on her, she’s got to admit that he’s _gigantic_.)

“Erm, _Mr. Queen_ … I think that I’m stuck.”

The man’s amused smile drops, replaced by a furrowed brow and concerned frown. With her glasses pressing against her nose unpleasantly, she really hopes that he isn’t assuming the worst – like she strategically planned this uncommon endeavor in order to file a lawsuit, or that she’s attempting to seduce him via mischievous entrapment, etc.

Simply, he shuffles so that he’s beside her, and lets himself lower, crouching not a foot away from her. “Are you sure? Here.” Without a second’s hesitance, he reaches out, cradling her upper arm in his hands, sending a shiver through her. (Really, how old is he? So what if he’s extremely attractive and has a _manscent_ and is much closer than she’s prepared for? Felicity Smoak is a grown woman – she should be better at handling her hormones.)

With no warning, he maneuvers her arm so that it’s pressing further into the machine, twisting so that the latch can come loose. Despite the initial planned reaction, the door only tightens on her, causing a nasty pain to fill her limb. Quickly, to alert him to freeze, she lets out a sharp yelp – yes, a _yelp_ – and lets her free hand drop from her dress hem to press against his shoulder.

His movements cease, immediately, and his look turns alarmed, a small, “ _Sorry, sorry_ ,” falling from his lips. Allowing a heavy exhale to fill the space between them, Felicity’s eyes shut, embarrassment replacing her panic.

“I’m sorry, sir. Really, this was completely unintentional.” She glances at his eyes again, apologetically frowning. “I don’t want you to think this is my attempt as a come on, what with the whole _nearly mooning_ thing. And, also, this isn’t some ploy to earn a raise out of a lawsuit claim – or my way of informing the Queen Consolidated higher-ups of the considerably sucky break-room snack shelf conditions.”

Oliver just shakes his head, a small smile forming. “You’re stuck in a compromising position, and you’re worried about how _I_ feel?”

Letting herself think about it, she uneasily laughs, hand running over her cheek. She hums, “Yeah, s’pose so,” and earns and full blown scoff of amusement from the Adonis beside her. From this seat, she’s got no problem being entrapped, because the view is A+, considering the circumstances.

“You are something else. What’s your name?”

She’d be lying if she said that she doesn’t consider giving him an alias, unsure if he genuinely wants to know her name or if he plans to use the information to fire her for her clumsy mistake. But, she decides to be honest, knowing that it’d only take a short period of time for him to discover her lie and have more of a motive to sack her from the cozy, comfortably-paying IT position.

Holding her hand out to shake his, she hesitantly offers, “Felicity Smoak.”

“ _Felicity Smoak_ ,” he murmurs, letting it roll around in his mouth. After a moment, he takes her hand in his (much larger one, if she might add) and shakes it, gently. “I’m Oliver Queen.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, kindly. “Of course you’re Oliver Queen. _Mr. Queen_ , I mean.”

“Call me Oliver. Mr. Queen is my father,” he gives, a charismatic tint on it.

And, while Felicity would love to sit and obsess over the fact that an attractive billionaire with undeniable charm and gorgeous lips wants her to address him casually, she can’t, because with each passing second, her knees are becoming more pained and her arm is cramping under the cool, hard metal.

“Well, Oliver. _Oliver Queen_ ,” she smiles, “I’d love to sit and chat, but I’m afraid that I’m a tad bit pre-occupied, what with a vending machine trying to eat me and all.” He laughs, then nods. “So, I’m sorry to take time from your day, which I’m sure is already full of plans involving chatty blonde’s with appendages trapped in giant, snack filled machines, but is there any way that you could call up someone to pry me from this door? Preferably someone with the ability to leave me unharmed and pain-free.”

Oliver nods, pressing his palm against her shoulder. “Sure thing. Give me a minute, I’ll head down to janitorial and see what I can come up with.”

With a forced sigh and go-ahead, Felicity gives him a thankful smile. She’s aware that janitorial is four floors down and that it’ll take him at least fifteen minutes to find someone with the power to release her from her metal-filled purgatory, and in those fifteen minutes she will be snack-less and at the criticism of any passing co-workers that might make their way through her current corridor. She can’t stop him, however, and she knows that it’s the only way she wont spend the rest of her life in this position (which is becoming increasingly awful).

So, watching him walk away, his sympathetic looks in tow, Felicity sighs into the machine’s cool glass, letting it fog up around her mouth. Reaching up, she runs her fingers through the mist, drawing a frowny face into it. This is what her life has become: waiting to be rescued by her boss’s wealthy, over-attractive son, while her bottom half is raised so that strangers can freely enjoy her assets.

The thing about Oliver Queen, Felicity thinks, is that she can completely envision him doing the opposite of what he claimed, leaving her to rot in the dingy IT department. With her television having previously told her stories of his incompetence, the multiple times he’s screwed over his family in the media’s eyes, she’s only ever imagined him as a spoiled, overconfident trust-fund baby. And, like, she knows that it’s not very likely that he just up and left her, what with him already attempting to save her from her hellish fate, once already. But, the knowledge doesn’t stop her from wondering.

She hopes that he’s coming back, not only because he’s Oliver Queen and getting in his good graces could seriously help her in the long run, but because she left her phone in her cubicle, and she has no way of escape until another person wanders by. But, mostly because of the further, seeing that there’s plenty of people able to pass by her, a helping hand in tow.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she waves off the few co-workers who do stop, asking if she needs a hand. She tells them how _someone is already on their way_ , and she seriously hopes that it’s true, because if not, her life will become a lot more embarrassing.

It takes fourteen minutes for Oliver Queen to find his way back to the IT department, cell phone in hand and breathe slightly sped. Felicity can tell that he’s been running, and she lets herself smile at the endearing idea that the man has even a small care for some lowly, gawky blonde in his father’s office (even if deep down she knows that he would probably do the same for any semi-attractive woman in distress).

“They didn’t have a spare key,” he huffs out, kneeling back in his previous position beside her. “So, I called the vending company on my way back, and they’re sending someone over right now.”

Felicity drops her head against the machine at his words, overtaken by failure and irritation and regret, because a fruit-rollup really isn’t worth so much trouble. But, of course it would be a Smoak who got herself into an awfully uncomfortable situation. A Smoak with poor posture and bruise-prone skin, nonetheless.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Oliver speaks, “At least the fire department wont have to get involved.” With that, he presses his hand against her side. And, okay, while his touch is extremely distracting from the fact that her knees have lost all feeling but _ouch_ , she doesn’t let herself focus on it, because he’s the boss’s son, and the boss’s son is off limits, even if he were the slightest bit interested.

With a forced, hollow smile, Felicity grumps, “Yeah, okay,” before groaning into the glass.

Oliver scrunches his face, a confused look following. “Is something wrong?”

Felicity laughs. “Well, other than the fact that I’m currently facing extreme humiliation, and other than the fact that my arm is wedged in extremely cold metal, this is possibly the worst position to be stuck in, seeing that I have been on my knees for nearly twenty minutes.”

Taking in her words after speaking them, she groans, again, face flushing for what seems like the millionth time.

“That’s _not_ what I meant. I just mean that the floor is hard, and if I’m stuck like this, I would like to be more comfortable.”

Oliver chuckles, and Felicity knows that no matter how she says it, it will sound horrifyingly _dirty_ , because the universe hates her. So, instead of defending herself, she just gives in to the mortification, offering a dry laugh.

“Hold on,” Oliver says, standing up. For a moment, Felicity thinks that he’s leaving. She looks up, quickly, only to watch as he pulls off his leather jacket, a smirk on his face. “Put this under your shins. Should help, some.”

Knowing that the fabric will, in fact, take some of the pain away, she just rolls her eyes. Her life is such a comedy, filled with enough hilarious stories to fill a _War and Peace_ length novel. Of course meeting Oliver Queen would lead to her on her knees, flustered and under his watch. It’s only fitting.

One leg at a time, she lifts her knees, letting the man tuck his jacket underneath.

“Maybe if you tried sitting,” he says, sliding down to sit next to her, “it wouldn’t be as bad.”

Felicity shrugs, taking his words into consideration. Deciding that not much more damage can be done, she slides forward some, pulling the make-shift cushion with her, and angles her body so that her knees are pressing into Oliver’s thigh, and her bottom is half on the floor and half on her feet. And, it’s not less comfortable, but it’s definitely not ideal – but, beggars can’t be choosers, so she settles.

“So,” Oliver hums, a smirk high on his lips. “Does this happen to you often?”

Felicity snorts, accidentally, and shakes her head at him. “Ah, you caught me. I entrap myself here and pick up men, every Tuesday. _Not that I’m trying to pick you up_. It was sarcasm – because this is a one-time thing, _hopefully_.” She frowns.

With Oliver’s amused smirk only growing, Felicity wants the ground to eat her whole. He’s making this situation so much more excruciating with his flirty looks and unfairly attractive aura. If she survives this, she decides, she should write a novel, in detail, about how the universe hates Felicity Smoak more than any other person alive.

To add to her distress, Oliver is just watching, unaffected, as her bare legs are very obviously touching his thigh, and he is the only one with the power to change that – which he isn’t, meaning he either enjoys it, or doesn’t notice. Felicity can’t decide which would be worse.

Trying to calm herself down, Felicity wonders, “Don’t you have somewhere more important to be? Not that I don’t appreciate your help, because I totally do.”

“Not really. I was going to meet my friend, Tommy, for lunch. Decided I’d stop in to see my father, instead. On my way, I ran into you – looking as though you could use some assistance.”

Felicity winces. “I can’t help it if this _death trap_ decided that it would take my $1.50 and not give me my candy.”

Oliver mockingly nods, visibly hiding his laughter. “It should be arrested for such a treason! Stealing from innocent, defenseless – _attractive_ – women.”

 _Frack_.

Forcing herself to swallow the unnerved twinge in her voice (because _Oliver Queen_ just called her _attractive_ , God help her), and awkwardly manages, “I’m not defenseless. If anything, my returned attack makes me rather defensive. In a way, I’m quite the vigilante.”

“If you say so,” he grins.

Felicity shakes her head. “This machine, here, was just waiting to take a beating. It was only a matter of time, Mr. Queen.”

“Which is why you’re the one taking damage, instead of it?”

Felicity grumbles.

She can’t decide if this back and forth banter means more than she thinks, or if it means less, or if Oliver Queen calling her attractive was genuine, or just Oliver Queen being Oliver Queen. Either way, Felicity makes a mental note to never trust a snack-machine, because the lesson learned is that she will end up humiliated and over-thinking the words of a billionaire.

“So, _Felicity Smoak_ ,” Oliver starts. “How long have you been working for Queen Consolidated?”

Felicity gives a thankful sigh, glad that his flirty tone is mostly dropped. She has a weakness for it, she supposes.

“Three years. Well, _almost_ three. I interned for a bit, but when my supervisor came to his senses and realized that I’m the most talented person in the tech department, I was hired.” She takes a breath. “Not to sound over-confident, or anything. Just, I genuinely am the best.”

Oliver laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and Felicity feels like crawling out of her skin. Her legs are still freely against his, and she can’t stop from wondering how long it’ll take for the vending company to make an appearance. And, when they do, what will she tell the key carrier? “Sorry, your machines suck and stole my food, and I am not wasting three dollars on barely edible treats that I could easily purchase – for so much less – from the store down the block,” doesn’t seem appropriate.

Maybe Oliver Queen will handle it, politely taking charge of the conversation while Felicity wriggles out from the blatantly uncomfortable position, all eyes on her. While it hardly seems appropriate, she figures that it couldn’t get any worse than it already is.

The silence becoming unbearable, Felicity lets out a sigh, wriggling the fingers on her hand inside the glass casing, reaching for the snack that’s caught on a wring. Just out of reach, Felicity thinks that if her arm was an inch longer, she could reach it. “I just wanted some candy. Honestly.”

Oliver watches her fingers, reaching up to tap on the glass with his own. “If I would have known such an interesting woman in the IT department wanted a treat so badly, I would have offered to take her out and allowed her to avoid such an inconvenience.”

Felicity stills her movements. Is this his way of asking her out?

“Are you coming onto me, Mr. Queen?”

“ _Oliver_ …” he trails. “And, maybe.”

Opening her mouth to speak, Felicity stops, unsure of what to say. This is her boss’s son, and while it’s an interesting offer, she knows that it’s completely wrong to even think about. And, deep down, Felicity knows that this is just one of Oliver Queen’s ways, charming whatever semi-attractive woman he can get his hands on.

“If you’d be interested.”

Felicity raises her brows, hesitance on her face. “I work for your father.”

“So? It doesn’t change the fact that I find you extremely attractive, and would love nothing more than to learn some more about you. Preferably at a dinner table, instead of in the clutch of a vending machine.”

With a small laugh, Felicity shakes her head. “We only just met!”

He shrugs.

“Okay, pretend that I didn’t work for a company with your name plastered on the front of the building, and pretend that it weren’t _beyond_ inappropriate. You still have no idea who I am. What if I were a psychotic, stalker lady? You would be signing on for some serious trouble!”

Oliver laughs, waving his hands. “First, I’ve seen stalker ladies, and you are in no way _that_. Second, obviously I know nothing about you, hence the date.”

And, while Felicity is completely bewildered, unsure of what to say – she’s cut off by the sound of a phone ringing, interrupting the moment. Between them, Oliver reaches into his pocket, finger raised, motioning for her to hold on. _Saved by the bell_ , she thinks, jokingly.

He taps at the screen, raising it to his ear. “Hello?” A beat. “Alright, yeah – go ahead. Send him up.”

While she’s caught on the fact that she’s just been asked out by Oliver Queen, she pushes her feelings to the side because she’s about to be rescued from the most humiliating experience of her short life. Watching as he stands, Felicity follows him with her eyes, adjusting her body so that she’s in her first position. He just smiles.

“Good news: you’re only minutes away from never seeing another one of these,” Oliver pats his hand against the vending machine, “ever again. Until next Tuesday, at least.” With a wink, he makes his way past her and into the line of the elevator, a silent _be right back_ left behind.

Felicity sighs, leaning her head against the glass, once again. This situation has led to a more productive day than she’s used to. If she would have known, before today, that all she needed to catch the interest of a rich, beautiful man, she would have done it long ago.

Hearing the ding of the elevator, Felicity sits up (as far as she can), and attempts to see over her shoulder to watch for her savior. It takes a moment, but when she sees the man, a key in hand and smirk on his face, Felicity is sure that she’s never been more happy to see a stranger than in this moment.

“Thank God,” she murmurs, smile brightening as Oliver leads the man towards her.

He just laughs, saying a quick, “Nope, just the delivery boy.”

“Well, while I’m sure it’s been fun in there, I think it’s time we set you free,” Oliver adds, sending a wink down at Felicity as he takes the key from the man.

Wasting no time, he quickly turns the keyhole, unlatching the door from its hinges. Giving Felicity time to back up with it, he slowly opens the door, setting her free. Pulling her arm out from its grip, her snack falls out, with it, landing on the floor by her face. She laughs, dryly, and rubs at her elbow where it was pressed.

Other than a few small indentations, Felicity finds that she’s unharmed, left with only shame and her beloved fruit-rollup.

“Thank you. A lot. I wouldn’t have escaped without you,” she tells the delivery boy, forcing herself not to wrap him in a hug. She’s truly thankful.

He nods at her, closing the door and retrieving the key from Oliver.

Oliver hands it over with a smile, helping Felicity to her feet. “Thank you, Randy. I’ll be sure to put in a few good words for you with your superiors.” The man gives him a large smile.

“Sure thing Mr. Queen.”

As he walks away, Felicity is left with her shredded dignity and Oliver Queen’s waiting request for a date. (That, and her fruit-rollup. She ought to burn that thing for putting her through so much trouble.)

Exhaling, heavily, Felicity reaches down to collect Oliver’s jacket off the floor. She raises it, with a half-smile, _thank you_ hanging off her lips, when Oliver interrupts with a, “It was no problem.”

Somehow, with them on the same level, neither held captive in large metal boxes, Felicity finds herself at a lack for words (which is a first). Either that, or she’s still unsure what to reply to his date offer. There are so many reasons why she should politely decline, but with him so close and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eagerly, she’s got every nerve in her body telling her to accept.

“So,” he hums, brushing off his jacket, holding eye contact with Felicity.

She pats down her dress, returning the, “So.”

For a moment they just stand, waiting for the other to speak. Until Oliver begins, at least, persistence in his voice. “Listen, Felicity. I know it doesn’t seem like the best idea, but I’d really like to have dinner sometime. Or lunch. Anything, really. Plus, if it makes you feel any better, I doubt it could be any worse than what you’ve just been through.”

With a chuckle at the end, Oliver raises his brows, waiting for a reply.

Felicity looks around, awkwardly, hoping that her subconscious angel will jump in, repeat to her all the reasons she needs to leave, a, “No thank you,” in her wake. It doesn’t come, though, and she’s left to make her own judgement – which, if her day has proven anything, can sometimes be poor.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, pressing her palms together.

Oliver shakes his head, stepping closer. “Well, I know. Say yes. It’s just one date, Felicity. I promise, no fruit-rollups will be involved.”

With a gawky laugh, Felicity rolls her eyes, smile larger than before. And, sighing heavily, Felicity closes her eyes. “ _Fine_.”

“Don’t sound so excited. It might give me the wrong idea, like you _want_ to be there.” There’s a joking tone to his voice, and Felicity just shakes her head.

Humiliation aside, it’s been pretty good day. Plus, she has a date with an overly-attractive billionaire. Could be worse.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is extremely appreciated (pls) and you can also check me out on tumblr, maybe?
> 
> leaguefelicity.tumblr.com


End file.
